Rock Bottom
by cornergoddess
Summary: What if Cuddy actually did help House detox? House!whump, House!hurt, House!sick, House/Cuddy, House/Amber, House/Wilson, hurt/comfort, angst.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sorry for the hiatus! Writer's block sucks! Anyways, I'm back! Please read and review!**

House stared at the vial of insulin before him. Just one injection and it could all be over. Of course, he didn't think the hallucinations would be gone that easily, but he'd try anything. Carefully, his shaking hands drew the medicine into the syringe and injected it. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride for a moment. He felt himself drifting…

**(LINE BREAK)**

"House?! Shit!"

Wilson ran to the medical cart outside House's office and rummaged in it, finally finding single-dose Ativan. He quickly injected it into the seizing doctor's arm. Slowly, the man's spasms stopped. Wilson knelt next to his friend.

He stays there for a few minutes, checking vitals and generally making sure his friend hasn't died. He does this until he sees a sliver of blue emerging from the older man's eyes.

"House…?"

House moaned. Everything was blurry and his head hurt.

"House, wake up." Wilson. He opened his eyes wider to see a Wilson-colored blob leaning over him. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief.

"An insulin coma, really? You could have died, House!" he exclaimed, helping his friend sit up. House looked around, the blurriness receding.

"Yeah...Amber's gone though…"

Wilson flinched at the mention of his deceased girlfriend, even in the context of a hallucination. "She is?"

House nodded. "You wanna take me to dinner to celebrate? Your treat."

"No! House, no. You could have died. You could have had brain damage! There are other ways to accomplish this. You're really worrying me," Wilson said.

"Fine, I'll go to dinner by myself," House resigned.

"No, you won't. You should go home and rest. You just had a seizure and I don't want you to stress yourself more. Besides, you shouldn't be driving."

"Nope, I'm going out. I'll take a cab."

Wilson sighed, knowing that when House wanted something, he was probably going to get it one way or another. "Fine. But call me if you feel even the least bit weird," Wilson ordered, running a hand through his hair.

"Will do, boss. Now help me up," House ordered back. Wilson grabbed his friend's hand and pulled him to his feet, making sure he was steady before letting go. He reached down to where House's cane lay and handed it to him. House swayed a little, but seemed to be more or less keeping himself up.

(LINE BREAK)

House decided to go to one of his favorite restaurants, which had live performers on Friday nights. They were usually hot, and he'd managed to pick up a few of them in the past. Besides, they made a great Reuben.

He walked in and took the booth closest to the door, all but collapsing into the seat. He rubbed his leg. Falling on the floor hadn't helped the state of the limb, and now he was paying for it.

"What can I get for you, sir?"

"Reuben. Extra dressing."

The waitress nodded and walked away, pad of paper in hand. House leaned back and enjoyed the atmosphere. He fiddled with his cane, looking up at the band setting up on the stage up front. The singer was short and blonde, wearing a white top tied up to show her midriff and booty shorts. House made a purring sound to himself.

Suddenly, the woman turned around. She looked very familiar. Her face was the face he'd been seeing every day for the past month. It was Amber's face.

House fumbled for his cell phone, hands shaking. He pressed one.

"What's wrong?" Wilson answered.

"She's back."

"Amber?"

"Yes. Come get me."

"Okay, I'll be there in five. I assume you're at Sal's?"

"Yes. Hurry."

House hung up the phone and rested his head in his hands. He wanted to cry. He'd really thought she was gone. What an idiot.

He did cry then, shoulders shaking, not making any sound. He needed help.

**(LINE BREAK)**

Wilson showed up a few minutes later and guided him to the car. He didn't mention House's tear-streaked face or pallor, which was probably for the best.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked instead.

"Home for now. I'll deal with it in the morning."

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

House shook his head.

"Okay. I'll keep my ringer on. Call me if you need anything."

House nodded, looking at the floor.

**(LINE BREAK)**

When he got home, he got in bed, even though he knew he wouldn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling.

"You really thought I'd be gone?" a taunting voice asked. House didn't answer. He couldn't even look at her; couldn't even think about her.

"Hey!" she yelled, snapping her fingers in his face. She was standing above his bed now, a smug smile on her face.

"Don't think you can just ignore me."

House groaned and turned his head into the pillow, covering his ears. Her voice still rang clear.

"You're nothing but an addict. You've killed thousands of people with your mistakes. Your coworkers hate you. Even your friends hate you. You're worthless."

House screamed in frustration. His fist punched at the air, not connecting with anything. He threw the pillow across the room, toppling a lamp. He didn't care. He finally gave up and sobbed. This was rock bottom; it had to be. He knew what he had to do, but he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to go through it again. But he was pretty sure it was his only option.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So as you may have noticed, updates will take longer for this story, at least for now. Exam week! I hope you're enjoying it though and don't find this chapter OOC. **

Lisa Cuddy was swamped. Every department seemed to want new supplies this month. ICU wanted new monitors, NICU needed blankets, physical therapy resistance bands were breaking...and on, and on. She was filling the requests as fast as she could, but it was a lot and the department heads kept calling her and asking where they were.

She heard the squeak of her door opening. She should really fix that. She looked up and saw a tall man leaning on his cane heavily and sighed.

"What do you want, House?"

House dropped onto the couch next to her desk. His eyes looked sadder than usual. Her voice softened.

"What happened?"

"I'm having hallucinations," he admitted, not looking at Cuddy.

Cuddy stared at him. "What...what kind of hallucinations?" she stuttered.

"I see dead people," House snarked. His voice still sounded sad, though. Maybe more than sad, actually. He sounded broken.

"House...we can get you help. Your health insurance will cover it."

"It's not psychological."

"How do you know, House?"

"I just do. It's not a tumor either. I'd have other symptoms. Blurry vision, hearing problems...There's only one other explanation."

"And what's that?"

"Vicodin. Long-term use can cause hallucinations. I need to detox."

Cuddy sighed, staring at House. His head was bent, but what she couldn't see was that his eyes were glassy and about to overflow.

"Okay. Your health insurance can cover that too."

"No. No facilities. I need to do this on my own."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I need to do this at home. I can't do it all by myself though. There's risk of heart problems and seizure…"

"Last time you detoxed it wasn't an issue."

House looked up at her, a tear falling down his sallow cheek. "This time is different. I've been taking a lot more. Cuddy, I think I'm addicted."

Cuddy wanted to come out from behind her desk and hug him just then, but she restrained herself. He wouldn't want that. "What can I do?" she asked instead.

"You can come to my apartment and oversee my detox."

Cuddy was shocked. "Wilson can't do it?"

House shook his head. "Wilson will give in and give me drugs within the first hour. It needs to be you."

Cuddy sighed. She had meetings and paperwork...he couldn't just expect her to drop everything and watch him suffer for a week. But who would do it if she didn't? She supposed she'd have to cancel her engagements. She was already moving around her schedule in her head. "Okay. When was your last dose?"

"This morning." House took the amber bottle out of his pocket and set it on Cuddy's desk. She picked it up and turned it in her hands.

"Don't do this…" Amber said faintly. House ignored her protests. He had to do this, for a thousand reasons.

"Okay. We can start today."

House nodded. He rubbed his leg, already starting to hurt.

Cuddy stepped out of her chair and grabbed her purse. "Let's go."

House nodded and stood. He felt like a lamb being lead to slaughter. He thought about the days he'd be spending curled up on the couch, or the bed, frantically rubbing his leg, sweating out of every pore.

"You can't do this, House. You're not addicted. And even if you were, you'd just go back to the pills. This is worthless," Amber chided.

"Shut up," he muttered, following Cuddy out of her office and to the parking lot.

He followed her car to his house in silence. Usually he'd play music with the windows open; his hair blowing in the wind. This time, though, all he did was feel hot tears fall down his cheeks and roll off his chin and think about ramming hyis car into a tree. He knew what detox could do to a person; had been there before when he took the bet to quit cold turkey for hours off clinic duty. It was also winter, which made his leg worse. What was he thinking?


	3. Chapter 3

They pulled into the apartment parking lot, House in the handicap spot. Cuddy got out of her car and caught up with him. She sighed exasperatedly.

"Why on Earth did you move into an apartment with stairs in front?"

House glared but didn't answer, pulling himself up the few steps and into his apartment. Notebooks and magazines were strewn on the floor, and dishes idled in the sink. Cuddy made a face. If she was going to be staying here, she'd be doing some cleaning.

House collapsed onto the couch and turned on the television as if Cuddy wasn't there. He flipped channels until he found a National Geographic special on superbugs, then leaned back and kicked his legs onto the coffee table. Cuddy was already picking up the debris on the floor.

"How do you not trip with all this stuff on the floor?" she asked. House didn't answer. She sighed and continued to clean. She saw a prescription bottle on top of the fridge and pocketed it.

"House. You need to tell me where the rest of these are," she said, holding up the bottle. Again, House didn't answer. She stepped in front of the TV so he was forced to look at her. He stared right through her.

"House, you need to tell me now. You won't have the willpower to later."

"Fridge...under the mattress...closet...bathroom cabinet...inside the lupus book...I dunno where else," he listed softly. Cuddy nodded and collected the bottles in varying stages of fullness.

"Let me know if you think of anywhere else," she said. House continued to stare at the TV. Cuddy really did feel sorry for him, but she knew this was for the best.

"Hey. Do you want some tea?" she asked the catatonic man. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Do you have tea?" she asked. Another nod.

"Where is it? What kind do you want?"

"Top left cabinet. Chamomile."

"Is your stomach already hurting?" Cuddy asked.

"No. I'm preparing."

Cuddy washed the pot and started boiling the water. She located the tea bags and prepared them. She glanced over at House, who appeared to be glaring at something next to him.

"Are you hallucinating right now?" she asked from the kitchen.

"I don't wanna talk about it. I don't wanna talk about anything. You're just here to make sure I don't die."

"Fine," she agreed, a bit offended.

"Call Wilson and tell him where I am and what I'm doing," House ordered.

"Why don't you call him?"

"Don't want to hear him pitying me. And tell him not to come here."

Cuddy nodded and dialed him.

"Dr. James Wilson, oncology. How can I help you?"

Cuddy suppressed a laugh. "You really need caller ID."

"I like the old phones. What's up? Why didn't you just walk down here?"

"I'm at House's. He's detoxing and I'm helping him, so he won't be in for the next week or so."

"Huh? Why's he detoxing? Because of the hallucinations?"

"You knew?"

"Yeah. I've known for a few weeks. Does he need anything? Should I take shifts with you?" Wilson asked. Cuddy took a breath.

"No. He doesn't want you here. I don't think he can handle having you here."

"What? Why?" Wilson asked, hurt in his voice.

"I don't know. Something about not wanting pity. I'll keep you updated, OK?"

Wilson sighed. "Okay. Is he on anything? Methadone?"

"No...should he be?"

"Probably. I'll run some over-don't worry, you can get it outside. I won't come in."

"Okay. He hasn't started showing symptoms yet or anything. He does look a little pale though, and he won't talk to me."

"That's enough!" House yelled from the couch.

"Just go with the flow. Follow his lead," Wilson advised.

"Okay. I'm hanging up now."

"Bye Lisa." Wilson said, then hung up.

LINE BREAK

Wilson came a few hours later with the Methadone.

"Did you collect all the pill bottles?" he asked. Cuddy nodded.

"How many?"

"About six."

Wilson shook his head at that. "There's at least ten. Look harder."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: If y'all have any ****recommendations**** for house!whump, please let me know. I feel I'm running out. It can be something you wrote too!**

Cuddy entered the small apartment again. House had finished his tea, so she took the cup and washed it along with the other dishes. When she came back, House looked three shades paler.

"House?" she asked cautiously. He didn't answer, only stared at the wall. Then he threw up. Cuddy sighed.

"If you're going to throw up, you need to tell me. I'll get you a bag or something. And some other clothes. Where are your pajamas?"

"Bottom...drawer," the diagnostician managed, still nauseous. Cuddy quickly got him a bag and grabbed a set of pajamas from the bottom dresser drawer. She handed them to House.

"You just wanna get me naked," he snarked.

"I won't look," Cuddy promised, turning around.

House took off his vomit-soaked shirt and replaced it with the pajama shirt. He struggled with his jeans. His leg was already hurting worse, and he didn't want to think about how bad it was going to get.

"You can turn around now," he said once he'd pulled on the pants. Cuddy turned.

"That'll be more comfortable. Now what do you want to do?"

"Watch TV."

"You're going to watch TV all week? Why don't you read a book before your focus gets too bad. I can get you one."

House reluctantly nodded and switched off the TV.

Cuddy went back into the bedroom and grabbed books for both her and House. They settled in and read quietly.

LINE BREAK

About an hour later, Cuddy realized House had fallen asleep. His eyes were closed and the book had slipped from his hands. He almost looked peaceful. She gently pulled the paperback from his hands and drew a blanket over him. He shifted slightly but didn't wake. Cuddy set off to do some charting she'd brought along.

LINE BREAK

Another hour passed. Cuddy finished her charts and was now back to reading when she heard a moan come from the man on the couch. House stirred, shifting his weight to the left, eyes opening for a moment, then squeezing shut. His hands went into fists and grabbed the sides of the blanket, wads of fabric being encased in the long fingers.

"House? You OK?"

House gave a slight nod, even though it wasn't true. He was in substantial pain, but she didn't need to know that. His leg was cramped from being in the same position for so long. Slowly, he moved his hands to hold it, massaging the muscles. He opened his eyes a little to see if Cuddy was watching to discover she had moved so she was standing over him.

"Leg?" she asked. He nodded and winced.

"What can I do?"

"Heating pad...top shelf...closet…" he ground out, still massaging his leg. Cuddy got it quickly and turned it on, handing it to him. It lie limp on his leg, and he turned it to the highest setting. It brought some relief, but not much. He gestured for the bag Cuddy had brought. She handed it to him quickly, and he vomited into it again, the tea he'd had earlier sloshing at the bottom of the brown grocery bag.

"Do you want to get into bed? It may be more comfortable," Cuddy suggested. House shook his head. _He won't be able to get into bed soon, _Cuddy thought, but didn't say anything. Instead, she went into the bathroom and got a thermometer.

"Open your mouth," she ordered.

"I don't have a fever yet."

"Okay. Open your mouth, though."

House sighed and opened his mouth reluctantly. He felt like a child. The thermometer slipped in and he held it under his tongue. Cuddy waited, holding the attachment. It beeped. House pulled the thermometer out.

"99.6. You do have a fever," Cuddy said triumphantly.

"That's barely a fever. I run high anyways."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, House, you need to get in bed and sleep. I don't know how much of that you're going to get in the next week."

"What did I say about telling me what to do?" House grumbled, but stood. He immediately grabbed the table next to him for support.

"Cane…" he said, voice strained. Cuddy brought it to him. Usually, he could walk around the apartment just fine without it, but not today.

"Pathetic," the female voice next to him said. He looked behind him and glared at her. She smiled smugly. Cuddy pretended not to notice. House started slowly making his way to the bedroom, using the wall for support as well as his cane. He stopped every few feet to take a breath. He felt like he didn't have an ounce of strength. He looked to his right and saw that Cuddy had been following him, ready to grab him if he were to fall.

"I'm not going to topple over. Go."

"Not until you're in bed."

"I said go!" House yelled.

Cuddy slunk away and House continued his journey down the hall. Finally, he collapsed onto the bed, panting. He gripped his leg with both hands and felt it pulsing under them with the effort it had taken him to walk down the hall.

"There's pills on top of the bathroom cabinet," Amber said.

"Cuddy got them already. Now go away."

"What about the ones behind the wastebasket?"

"Those too. You're not getting your way this time. Go haunt someone else."

Amber crossed the room and perched onto the chair in the corner. She crossed her legs and sat primly, staring at her captive. House closed his eyes and tried to sleep. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Cuddy was right about the fact that he wouldn't be sleeping for awhile.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: sorry so short! Just thought this was a logical place to end the chapter :). Also, what should I write about when I'm done with this one? I was thinking maybe a story where House has a high fever and has to do an ice bath treatment and it brings up bad memories? Would y'all (hope this word doesn't grind y'all's gears...some people hate it but I write how I talk in author's notes) like that?**

Cuddy settled in on the couch and pulled a blanket over her torso. She drifted.

House awoke with a start. Quickly, he deduced that he must have been sleeping. He bit his lip as another jolt of electricity spread through his leg. His hands made their way deftly to his thigh and rubbed. It hurt differently than when he was on the Vicodin; more of an aching with sharp edges rather than a fuzzy, persistent assault.

He rolled more onto his left side, curling up. The sweat-soaked sheets stuck to his back and arms. He threw off his blanket and it landed on the floor next to his bed. His breath came in gasps and his eyes squeezed themselves shut. He lay as still as possible so as not to disturb the aching agony that was his thigh. Suddenly, he felt pressure on his shoulder.

Cuddy stood above him, not knowing what to do. She could give him Tylenol, but it wouldn't help much. House shook under her grip, and she could feel the wetness of his shirt and see tears gleaming from his eyes in the moonlight.

"House?" she said quietly. The older man whimpered slightly, taking her by surprise. She would never expect such a juvenile, weak sound to come from someone who seemed so big and sure of himself. Gently, she rubbed his back.

"Can I get you something…? Tylenol? Heating pad?"

"Morphine…" House whimpered. Cuddy's grip went a little slack.

"I can't get you morphine, House."

"Vicodin...please...it hurts…" His voice broke. He felt like he might smash in half along with it. Cuddy rubbed his back more, slow circles radiating out.

"I can't...I'm sorry. How bad?"

"Eight...or nine...just get it...no detox…"

"You can do this. This is probably the worst of it, OK? Maybe you'll feel better in the morning?"

House shook his head, whimpering.

"Hang on. I'm getting a thermometer, OK?" She didn't get an answer, so she let go of the man's shoulder and went to get the thermometer. When she came back, House's body had slackened.

"House?" No answer. She checked his pulse. Fast. Knowing he would know what to do, she called Wilson.

"What…?" he yawned.

"Sorry...I think House just passed out," Cuddy told him.

"It's OK...he does that when he's in a lot of pain. Just wait for him to wake up. If he doesn't in ten call me again and I'll come over," Wilson advised.

Cuddy hung up and made use of the time by sticking the thermometer in House's armpit and checking his temperature. 101.8. This elicited a moan from the half-conscious man.

"House? You awake?"

He nodded. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"Good. Do you feel a little better?"

Head shake.

"Sorry...what can I do?"

"Go…" he rasped.

"Are you sure? I don't want your heart to get too bad…" she hesitated.

"I'm sure...just go…" House said, not wanting her to see any more of him in this vulnerable state than she already had.

"Okay...but call me the second you start feeling any pressure or pain in your chest, OK?"

House nodded and rolled over more to his left, adjusting his vice grip on his leg. Cuddy exited, but not before checking his pulse one last time.

House was left alone in the room. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep again, so he entertained and distracted himself by reciting roots. _-pepsia…-vory...allic-...dorso-..._and on like that. He mumbled them under his breath until the pain got to be too much and his vision went dark again.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Last chapter! Sorry if this went in a direction some of you aren't happy with, but I didn't really know how to end it! Thanks for all the support with this story and stay tuned for the next one!**

Cuddy awoke that morning and started the small coffee pot in the kitchen. It looked neglected, and she felt as if she was invading House's privacy somehow by using it, but she needed her coffee or she was not going to be pleasant.

While the pot simmered, she dumped a dose of methadone into her palm, grabbed a glass of water, and went into House's room. She surveyed the ball under the covers. She couldn't tell if he was asleep or if he had merely closed his eyes.

"House?"

A moan came from the ball.

"I have your medicine. I need you to take it."

One eye opened, and House lifted his head. "Meds…?"

"Yes. Methadone."

House slumped. "Fine." He held out his hand and she set the pill into it. He swallowed it before she could hand him the water.

"How are you feeling?" Cuddy asked.

"How do you think I'm feeling?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."

House sighed heavily. "I'm nauseous and lightheaded and my leg feels like it's trying to detach itself from my body."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked clinically.

"No thank you, Nurse Lisa," House responded sarcastically. Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Okay, well I'm in the kitchen if you need me."

House slumped back onto the bed. His leg felt worse than earlier. He gingerly held it in both his hands. Even the practiced motion of massaging the tattered limb caused it to spasm in his grip. He whimpered pathetically and squirmed in an attempt to get into a comfortable position. Suddenly, he felt bile rise in his throat and before he could stop it he felt warm vomit run down his chin. He turned to look at the doorway and was about to call for Cuddy, but thought better of it. He didn't want her to see this. Also, he didn't have the energy to yell. He was tired even though he'd just woken up. Slowly, his eyes closed and he drifted again.

**(LINE BREAK)**

Cuddy looked up from her reading. She thought she'd heard a sound in the other room. She stood and went swiftly to the bedroom. House should get up anyways. It was almost noon.

Cuddy knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so she entered anyway. The ball under the blankets was shaking and whimpering. An acrid smell hit her nose.

"House? What's wrong? What's that smell?"

No answer came, only more whimpering. Cuddy went over to the other side of the large bed to see his face.

"House, why didn't you tell me you threw up? How long has this been here?"

House's face twisted into a grimace. "Just...get...something…" he said weakly.

"Something? Like what?"

"S-something…" House was shaking, body wracked with tremors. His sweat-soaked sheets clung to his arms and legs.

Cuddy acted fast. She rushed to the bathroom and got a thermometer. "Open. Now."

House didn't respond. His eyes slid shut slightly, and his hands grabbed the blankets in an attempt to ground himself.

"Now, House."

Slowly, he opened his mouth. Before he could close it, Cuddy shoved the thermometer under his tongue. House moaned. His vision blurred.

"House, don't pass out. Not right now." She took out the thermometer.

"You have a fever. I'm going to get you a wet washcloth, OK?"

House struggled to keep his eyes open. His leg cramped under his hand. He heard someone scream.

"House?!" Cuddy ran back into the room. House was still screaming, his back arching from the bed.

"Um...uh…" Cuddy panicked. Quickly, she dialed Wilson. House's head whipped back and forth.

"James Wilson?"

"You need to come over. I don't know what's going on."  
"Is that House?"

"Yes. He won't stop. You need to come."

"Okay, I'm on my way."

Cuddy laid a hand on House's head to stop the twitching. He was still screaming. Slowly, Cuddy laid a hand on his arm and rubbed up and down. It was the only thing she could think to do. To her surprise, the screaming stopped and was replaced with panting. House's eyes opened and stared up at Cuddy.

"It's OK…" she said awkwardly. House nodded.

"Cramp...hurts…"

"I know it does. You can do this, though."

"Can't...need meds…"

"Well I'm not giving them to you."

"Please…"

"No."

Cuddy's hand drifted down to House's. He squeezed. "You know what would make it OK…?"  
"What?"

House pulled her face towards his and kissed her. To House's and her own surprise, she kissed back.

They didn't hear the door swing open, or Wilson entering the room. He stood there for a moment, leaning against the doorframe. Then, he laughed, which slowly turned into a chuckle. House and Cuddy looked up. Cuddy turned red.

"What's funny…" she asked, pulling herself off House.

"You just kissed a guy who hasn't brushed his teeth in two days…" Wilson wheezed.

"Yeah...um...I guess I did…"

"Lisa, I know you'd never do that. What's gotten into you?"

"I-I don't know…"

"How long has this been going on?"

"It hasn't…or, it has...I think I've known for awhile...it just happened. Do you think he'll remember?"

"Oh, I don't think he'll ever forget."

(LINE BREAK)

Cuddy smiled slightly. She didn't know if she'd be glad if he remembered or not...all she knew was that that kiss had been fireworks; better than it had ever been with anyone else. She knew she had to do it again, once he was sober. Maybe it could even turn into something. Who knows?


End file.
